


Home

by Tiger_Lilly13



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, Doggy Style, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Large Cock, Oral Sex, Size Kink, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 09:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18206477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiger_Lilly13/pseuds/Tiger_Lilly13
Summary: A snippet of the life of Kratos and his first wife Lysandra. This takes place before Kratos makes the deal with Ares.Smut is in the second chapter, first one can be read as stand alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am playing the new God of War right now and went back to watch all the other games. I have this new obsession with Kratos and his tragic story. I wanted to write something from the perspective of his first wife, one we don't see very often or know much about so I put my own spin on her. I hope you enjoy! :)

“Mother?”

As she pulls the wool blanket over her daughter, the moonlight shining in through the open window and casting shadows on the child’s face, she already knows the question Calliope will ask. It is the same one she asks every night, one that she always dreads to answer, “When is father coming home?”

Lysandra just smiles her placating smile, swallowing down the urge to weep and adjusting the fabric so that it lies on her little girl snugly, “Soon, my child.”

The girl looks down and picks at the frayed ends of her quilt, her features solemn, “I miss him.”

The Spartan woman cups the cheeks of her daughter and brings her beautiful golden eyes, the same eyes as her father’s, up to her own, “As do I, my dear. As do I.” She sweeps her short, brunette hair from her forehead and lays a kiss against it, “Now hush. It is time for sleep.” The little girl nods her head and scoots down on the bed, laying her head on the pillow and closing her eyes, hugging close the wooden flute that her father carved for her before he left on his journey.

Lysandra rises from the bed and moves towards the door to her daughter’s bedroom, stopping at the frame and looking back at her sleeping child with sorrow in her heart. She hates having to lie to her about her father. In truth, she does not know when he will return, if he will at all. She cannot bear the thought of having to tell Calliope that her father has fallen in battle and will never be coming home. With the way her husband is leading his soldiers in his inexorable crusades, she dreads that this outcome will no doubt be the ultimate end.

Closing the door, she silently pads over to the kitchen table, gathering the plates and cutlery left behind from dinner. Being the wife of the most fearsome and formidable General in all of Sparta does have its perks, but her and her husband decided on a simpler life, forgoing the large, two story farm house that was gifted to them by the king for this cozy cottage far away from the noise of the city. During the days she can usually keep busy with her daughter’s education, menial housework and the small garden she tends to when Calliope is out playing in the fields. However, when the nights come and her little girl is asleep, they are lonely and isolating. Only the chirping of crickets and the crackling of the fires fill the dreadful silence, so she tries to keep her mind occupied as she quietly middles around the house, tidying up and preparing for Calliope’s lessons for the next morning.

Shortly after putting her daughter to bed, the shouts and cries of men outside grab her attention and she strides toward the window, placing her hands on the hardened clay and squinting into the darkness to discover what is causing the commotion. As her eyes adjust, she can see the torchlights on the backs of cavalry through the blackness. She can hear the jubilant wails of women as their husbands return from battle, the barracks in the distance coming alive with light and movement. The celebration that she hears from farther into the village can only mean one thing.

Kratos has returned victorious! She rushes outside into the courtyard, her blue and silver dress billowing behind her and her chestnut hair whipping softly in the warm, summer night breeze, having removed her headband a few hours before. Her heart flutters nervously as the clapping of horse hooves echo in the night, anxious to see her husband that has been on campaign for months. Excitement overflows from her and she cannot keep the smile off her face when she recognizes the stature of a familiar form, with his hulking body and his shaven head. She can even see his red tattoos reflecting from the rays of the moonlight on this cloudless evening. When he spots her standing outside waiting for him, he kicks his horse into a canter, galloping over the stone road towards her.

His ebony steed comes to a halt with a yank of the reigns, dust curling around its hooves as his rider bellows out joyously, “Lysandra, my love!” He unmounts his horse quickly and rushes to her, bending to scoop his wife up into his arms, squeezing her to him. She can hardly breathe under the pressure of his massive arms, but she clings to him around his neck with a giddy laugh, the smell of blood and dirt still lingering on his skin, but it is not an unpleasant scent. It is a scent that reminds her that he is home and alive and unscathed. Her unbridled happiness bursts forth from her, brimming with love and devotion as she hugs him back, her nose pressed against his neck.

He puts her down and she says with an elated grin, running her hands down his cheeks, “Welcome home, my husband.”

The hulking Spartan grabs his wife’s face and brings her in for a passionate kiss, his tongue invading her mouth and she moans at his frantic attentions, pressing herself against him and relishing in the physical contact she has desperately missed. Ending the kiss, he pulls away without letting her go and he breathes a sigh of relief, mirroring her own emotions, “It is so good to see you.” She beams at his elation and he looks over her shoulder toward the house, “Where is Calliope?”

“She is asleep, dear.” She says with a chuckle, tracing the swirling, crimson design on his chest, “It is late, you know?”

He grunts in affirmation, “No matter. I will see her in the morning.” His eyes return to her, a fire behind the amber that causes a familiar warmth to pool between her thighs, “I will take this time to become reacquainted with my loving wife.” He leans down with a wolfish grin and picks her up by the backs of her thighs. She giggles girlishly at her husband’s eagerness, gripping onto his shoulders for support, wrapping her legs around his waist. The slit up her dress is showing off her skin provocatively, but she is beyond caring if anyone sees. Her husband is home and in her arms, and hopefully will be for a long while.

Kratos kicks the door closed once inside, biting at her neck and making her moan in shivering pleasure, clawing her fingernails down his biceps. Her center is right on his growing arousal and she tries to push down with her pelvis onto his hips, the loneliness and heartache she has felt over these few months boiling over and making her desperate for his touch. His hands travel to her rear and he gives it a squeeze, causing her to buck, but to her surprise, he lets her down gently and her bare feet touch the floor.

He pulls away to look her in the eyes, his own hazy with lust as he murmurs, “I do not have much time,” She blinks in question and he continues, twisting her hair between his calloused fingers, “We depart for Arcadia in the next two moons for the skirmish against Basil and his militia.”

That stops her heart dead and her arousal dissipates immediately. He’s leaving? Again? And he tells her this so passively as if it should not matter to her? She recoils from him, eyes going wide, “Another Campaign? Why? You’ve only just returned and you are leaving so soon?”

He lets her leave his embrace as he speaks with a patronizing tone, one eyebrow raised, “It is my duty to eliminate all that are deemed a threat to Sparta. You know this.”

She is above begging, but her eyes cannot hide her contempt and panic, “You have been gone for so long, Kratos. Calliope misses her father and I need my husband here.” She cannot handle another moment of his absence, the idea of him leaving for another war…she cannot bear it. Not this soon. A true Spartan woman, she is not. Where other wives would be overjoyed that their husbands are so eager to fight for their country, she would much rather have him home with her and their daughter, together as a family. Does he not see that it is tormenting for her every time she watches his back fade away into the distance, unknowing if he will return? Does he not even care for them anymore?

His demeanor changes into that of confrontation, his shoulders tense as he frowns, “I will not argue, Lysandra. I must put forth all effort into defending Sparta and continuing the supremacy of our reign.”

Lysandra has never been shy about her feelings concerning his cruelty towards their enemies, the ruthless carnage that follows him has always unnerved her, and she tells him so regularly. On nights such as these, she would usually hold her tongue and enjoy the few precious moments they have together, but with his absences now growing longer and his deeds becoming more violent, she has finally had enough.

She huffs angrily, unable to hold back her hatred for what he has become, “In your efforts to protect this city, you have garnered a following that has overlooked your viciousness. The soldiers idolize you, but fear you in a way unbecoming of a captain.” 

“What I have done is defeated armies that none were strong enough to conquer. I expected you would be proud of that.”

“And I am,” She implores, “But not in the way that you have done it. I fear your brutality will be your undoing. It does not always have to end in bloodshed and violence. The fighting has to stop at some point.”

He waves his arm back to indicate behind him, “I am out there fighting for you, for Calliope, and for the glory of Sparta!”

“For the glory of Sparta?” She narrows her eyes as she crosses her arms, unimpressed with his angry outburst, “Or the glory of you?”

He scowls deeply back at her, his fists clenching at his sides, “What is it that you imply?”

Her eyes glance down to his hands. She knows he would never hurt her, even as he looks as if he is going to strike. Not once in their many years of marriage has she ever anticipated him to turn his wrath onto her. She is not, and has never been afraid of him. No, the fear she has in her heart now is not fear _of_ him, it is fear _for_ him.

Her eyes return to his, beseeching, “You walk a fine line, Kratos. One I hope you never cross, for you will have to face the consequences for doing so and I don’t know if you are ready for that.” _I am not ready for that_ , she doesn’t say.

He stands straighter as if insulted, looking down his nose at her, “Our enemies tremble before me and they beg for their lives as I end them. I will destroy anyone that gets in our way.”

Not to be intimidated, she uncrosses her arms and closes the distance between them until their chests are touching, craning her neck up to glare right back at him, “I have heard of your methods of slaughter and they are abhorrent. What if our enemies use your own tactics against you? What happens when you become so blinded by rage and a twisted sense of honor that you are willing to sacrifice everything to get the power you so desperately are trying to achieve? My only wish is…” She cuts herself off before she chokes on her words, her eyes beginning to water without her consent.

He barks for her to finish her sentence, his flaming orbs dancing between her own, “What!?”

After a long, suffocating moment of husband and wife caught in a death match of indignation, she is the first to break eye contact, looking down with a defeated sigh, taking a step back and her shoulders slumping in resignation. She loves her husband dearly, but he is a stubborn brute. He will never relent his thirst for glory or conquest, and it is not her place to say otherwise. But, knowing the horrible things he has done, she cannot keep her doubts to herself. She doesn’t want to admit that she has had passing thoughts that he would throw away her and their daughter for any semblance of power. She barely even recognizes him anymore.

Her voice is uncharacteristically timid as she breaks the silence, “I do not desire to hold you back, Kratos, and I believe you will be victorious in any endeavor you pursue.” She has to take a calming breath before she confesses, “I fear that this endless search for purpose will cost you a bounty you cannot repay.” Her throat closes and she has to swallow the lump that has formed, “I just pray that you will always return home to me.”

After a long pause, she hears him breathe a winded sigh and she watches his sandaled feet as he steps up to her. When she does not lift her eyes, he murmurs her name, “Lys, look at me.” When she defies him, unable to face him without fearing that she will succumb to her grief, he brings his hand under her chin to lift her eyes to his amber ones, his gaze soft (as soft as his can be) and his words gentle, “I will _always_ return to you.” She blinks away a single tear, and he uses his thumb to wipe it away, “You are my home and I fight to keep you and Calliope safe. You give me purpose, for without you, I have none.”

The golden rays of his eyes hold the truth to his words, so tender yet firm with conviction, and it causes her ire to melt away. There is no use in trying to change his ways, for he will always be the brutal Captain of Sparta, but she will always be here for him, being the voice of reason when he needs guidance and the only woman that can sooth his raging beast. She raises her hand to place it on his upon her cheek, whispering with a watery smile, “I know.”

He pulls her to him, wrapping his big arms around her waist and laying his head in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent. She in turn circles him, burying her face in his broad, naked chest and pressing tighter to him, drawing in his warmth and savoring him, imprinting this moment into her memory to cherish while he is away.

He ends their embrace and when she lifts her eyes to his, he is smirking in a way that Lysandra knows very well, the heat in her belly beginning anew, “Come. Let us cease this bickering. I have seen enough battle for one day.” His hands caress down to her hips and he grips them, lightly grinding his pelvis against her so that she can feel the evidence of his arousal that did not dispel during their quarrel, “I wish only to lay with my wife tonight.”

She hums as she smiles seductively, using her fingertips to trace down the crimson tattoos on his face, “I did miss you.”

“And I you, my love.” 


	2. Chapter 2

He folds her hands in his and brings them to his lips, kissing her fingers once before taking one and guiding her to their bedroom opposite their daughter’s room. She follows him willingly, allowing herself to be lead and closing the door once inside. So long without her husband home, it has been difficult to sleep in this room. The duvet lays untouched in some time and the candles burning upon the side table have barely been used. Her necklace lies delicately on the burgundy wood, the azure stone in the middle of the woven threads shimmering softly in the low light. It was a gift from Kratos, a beautiful charm that symbolized his love for her and she wears it proudly, mindlessly toying with it whenever the isolation becomes too much for her to bear. It grounds her, keeps her mind from wondering into dark places and setting her on the right path when her worries seek to paralyze her.

Her husband pulls her to the bed and he chastely kisses her lips before gently pushing her down onto the bedding, standing once she is lying on her back comfortably. He remains at the foot of the bed and simply gazes at her, his golden eyes smoldering with simmering desire, considering her as an appraiser would a jewel. Still as a statue, his eyes wander her body, a frown appearing on his lips and Lysandra cocks her head at him, concerned, “What is it?”

His orbs snap up to her own, as if lost in his own thoughts and an emotion she has never seen from him passes behind the passion, a crack in his stony exterior , but it is gone before she can decipher it. He shakes his head and removes his leather bracers, letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor. His hands brace against the bed as he crawls over her and she opens her legs for him invitingly. He wedges himself between her thighs, his hand coming to lie against her cheek and the other circling her head protectively.

After a fierce moment of his amber eyes dancing between hers, he leans down and captures her lips with his, less innocently this time. His tongue is hot and strong, entering every crevice of her mouth and exploring her anew, twisting his fingers in her hair. She returns his growing hunger, letting out little moans and rubbing her hands up and down his back, her thighs tightening around his waist to hold him to her. Pulling the top of her dress free easily, he tugs her head back to lay kisses on her cheeks and down her neck, traveling to the tops of her breasts. His lips are warm as they trail across her peaks, his teeth scraping against the quickly hardening buds. He closes his mouth over one, sending lighting down to her clit, her pearl swelling as he massages and cups her breasts in his callused hands.

He continues his journey of her body lower, gripping her dress and taking it with him, noting that she is bare underneath with an appreciative grunt from his chest. He helps her untangle her legs from the fabric and throws it across the room, leaning back on his calves. He pauses to admire her nude form before he strokes her thighs lovingly, gently pushing them back to receive an unobstructed view of her pretty, pink center. After all this time, her husband can still cause her to blush from his scrutiny; her cheeks becoming heated and red. She lifts onto her elbows and watches him as he leans down against her mound and breathes deeply, his eyes closing in unconcealed bliss as shivers cascade down her spine at her lover being so close to where she begs for him to be.

Watching her face intently for her reaction, his tongue peeks out from between his lips and he flicks her pearl, causing her to gasp and buck against the sharp sensation. He hums in amusement, but returns focus to her womanhood, using his thumbs to spread open her petals and concentrating his attention on her excited nub, his slippery muscle forcing her to lay back and driving all rational thought from her mind.

She squirms as he swirls his tongue between her wet folds in patterns she cannot interpret, licking broad stripes up her slit and pushing lightly into her entrance. He has to hold her legs still as her hips begin to jerk with each motion, her body becoming hot and tingles spreading inside of her abdomen. She cannot contain her noises of pleasure as her husband explores her, familiarizing himself with the secret places of his wife that she lays bare only for him. Their time apart has not inhibited his skill, wielding his tongue like a sword in battle, every move calculated and executed with precision.

After so long alone, she is over sensitive to his touches that it does not take long for her to feel the pressure building inside her pussy. Taking note of her breathing becoming heavier, he brings down a hand and his uses a thick finger to slowly push into her, opening her up and sliding in and out shallowly, barely touching that area inside of her that causes stars to begin dancing across her vision. She involuntarily bucks her hips as he adds another finger, now crooking them in an upwards motion within her and hitting that sweet spot with more force. As his digits work, he concentrates on her pink pearl, his mouth now closing over it and his tongue lashing and flicking the nub without mercy.

Her hands fly to his scalp, digging her nails into his flesh as she feels the fire inside her burning hot, too hot. A whimpered, “P-Please,” is pulled from her panting chest as he rips the pleasure out of her, coercing her to succumb to his whipping tongue and thrusting fingers. His wet muscle flicks over her once, twice, and she cries out as her legs begin to shake with the force of her intense and long overdue climax. Her back arches painfully and her thighs attempt to close, but he holds them open and continues his assault on her throbbing clit, the little bud pulsing and sending shockwaves of ecstasy throughout her trembling body. She has to cover her mouth to quiet her sounds of release and the chanting of his name, so as not to wake their daughter in the other room.

She lands on the bed, breathing heavily and her mind hazy and muddled, aftershocks making her twitch and shudder. Her husband kisses the insides of her thighs, worshipping her as she descends from her high. Giving her a moment of reprieve, he crawls back up her body, laying sweet kisses along her sweaty skin until he comes face to face with her. He brings his fingers up and traces her bottom lip, letting her taste her essence on his digits. His voice is rough as he praises her, “Beautiful.” She lets out a happy hum in response, eyes lazy and limbs too weak to do more than shiver.

Kratos leans back on his haunches and begins to rip off his minimal clothing with ease, leaving him bare to her gaze and rendering her speechless. Her husband has the physique of a god. Rippling bronzed muscles and broad chest, bulging arms and massive legs, and a thin waist she can easily wrap her thighs around when he is moving in and out of her. As much as she wants to ogle his frame, her attention is glued to the colossal organ between his legs. His steely manhood is jutting out, leaking and eager. She always did feel lucky to have the most virile man in Sparta. His cock is nearly the length of her forearm and as thick as her wrist. She bits her lip, swallowing thickly with anticipation and unease warring inside of her.

She takes a deep breath and encircles his rigid cock with her delicate fingers, unable to touch her fingertips around his girth. It is warm and throbbing, and she rubs the tip with her thumb to smear the clear liquid that has escaped, causing him to let out a pleased sigh. She guides him to her, rubbing the head up and down her slit and coating him in her slick generously; mindful of the discomfort she will have to endure for him. Catching the tip at her entrance, she lets go and raises her eyes to his and nods for him to continue.

She hisses as his smooth head breaches her, just the tip enough to feel like too much. Her breath hitches in her throat as he pulls back and slides in further, stretching her walls around him. With his absence, she has had no penetration for months, and to her, she feels as tight a timid virgin. Her body resists his intrusion, but she attempts to relax and closes her eyes tight, listening to the noises of unrestrained lust emanating from her husband above her as he works himself inside her.

She focuses on opening herself up to him, the wetness from her previous climax easing his passage into her tight channel until he is fully sheathed within his wife. She revels in having him so deep inside of her, her breathing labored and needy as she whimpers with each of his subtle movements. He is just as enamored and cannot hold back as he starts a slow, smooth rhythm, “This is where a man belongs,” He groans as he pushes deeper within her, “Inside the- _mmm_ warmth of his wife.”

She answers him with a whimpering moan, her nails digging into the meat of his forearms as her hips buck against his thrusting ones. She can barely contain him, struggling to even clench around the massive length inside her, but her efforts do not go unnoticed by him and he grunts in appreciation. He leans on his forearms to kiss her and nibble on her lips, distracting her and helping her relax enough not to be strangling him. 

His attentions work and soon , the slow rhythm only satisfies him for a moment longer, becoming increasingly rough and resulting with him pounding steadily inside his wife’s dripping pussy, impaling her on his thick cock and knocking the breath out of her with each hilt of his manhood. He becomes lustfully wild, ceasing his movements and filling her completely, rotating his hips to ensure every part of her is filled to the brim, before continuing his relentless motions between her legs.

The waves of pleasure take her to places she had nearly forgotten. In her husband’s arms and legs wrapped around his snapping hips, she soars higher and higher on the cusp of falling into an abyss of pure bliss, so swept up in the motions of his body that she forgoes attempting to hold in her cries and whines, letting them spill out of her throat unrestrained.

The scorching pressure inside her builds again, faster this time, too soon after her first climax. She claws for him, her back arched and her breath unable to escape her chest, a release so powerful it shakes her body, clenching her inner muscles around him. Her nails scratch his back, leaving trails of red, but it does not stop him. His hips come faster, thrusting in and out of her with more force than before, not letting her have a moment to catch her breath. 

Suddenly, with a yelp of surprise from her, he quickly pulls out of her, grabs her by the hips, and easily flips her over to lay on her stomach, she too boneless to protest or object to his manhandling. Hoisting her up, he aligns with her abused pussy and slams back into her, the angle now even deeper. The lewd noise of flesh slapping flesh echoes in their room and her voice is rendered useless, the unyielding onslaught of pleasure transcending her into a frenzy, pushing her hips back against his in a frantic attempt to bring him over with her.

She grips the quilt underneath her and shoves it into her mouth, trying to muffle herself to no avail. He leans over her body until his chest is flush with her back and Kratos grabs her hair and forces her to relinquish the fabric from her mouth, compelling her to moan and whine for him unhinged. He is reaching places inside her she can barely handle, every time he sheathes himself he hits a spot so deep inside her that it is driving a rapidly approaching orgasm to build at such a quick pace, that she is stunned when it takes a hold of her body, not thinking she could take anymore.

White light crowds her vision until she is blinded, magma flowing out from her swollen clit, deep into her core and spreading through her entire body. She wails for him, his name a mantra on her lips as she experiences a powerful climax, her pussy clenching and rippling around the thick length within her. She arches her back painfully and squeals his name like a wanton whore, squeezing his steel manhood inside her body, her velvety walls milking his cock for his release, desperate for her husband to finish inside of her.

He grunts louder as his movements become sporadic, less coordinated, and with a few more snaps of his hips, he cums groaning low in his throat and burying himself in her until he reaches the mouth of her womb, biting her neck and forcing her to tilt her hips up to take all of him. His flexing cock twitches and spurts cum deep within her, being sure not to waste a single drop. He continues to thrust lazily inside of her, sure to pump all of himself within her until he is finally empty.

Husband and wife are shaking from their shared peaks, a thin sheen of sweat covering them both and trembling limbs entangled in the sheets. He lifts and removes himself from her with a sigh and she feels a sense of loss at his retreat from her body. As if it is a great effort to move, he gruffly huffs as he rolls them so that her back is to his chest, his fingertips caressing her shoulder and waist as he holds her tight to him. They bask in the afterglow of their love making, tender kisses lain upon her skin as she evens out her breathing and calms her racing heart.

Lysandra is teetering on the edge of wakefulness and dreaming when Kratos breaks the silence, his voice low and calculating, “Perhaps…when I return, I will stay. Stay with you and Calliope, for a while.” His fingers that were on her shoulder travel to her flat abdomen, tracing the digits across her skin causing goosebumps, “Have another child.” He kisses her neck, “A son.”

At his suggestion, a knot forms in her stomach. The idea of bringing another child into this marriage, when she can barely handle Calliope’s melancholy at her father’s absence? She slightly turns in his hold to examine him. His eyes are lethargic and his appearance is lacking the usual scowl that adorns his features. She knows he cannot promise her that. As much happiness as it brings her to envision a future where her husband is home and raising both their children together, she does not let the false hope blossom.

Instead, she gives him that same placating expression she gave her daughter and hums in acceptance, “I would love that.”

One corner of his mouth lifts in a rare, genuine smile and he leans in to kiss her lazily, his lips soft and pliant against her own. He lets her head fall back onto his bicep and for the first time in months, she feels safe and content, cradled in the protective arms of her husband. Before she falls into sleep, she sends a silent prayer to the gods to keep him from harm on his next campaign and to give him the strength he needs to defeat their enemies and return him to her.

\---------------------

On the shear peaks of Mount Olympus, as the God of War observes the mortal that he has chosen as his protégé, Ares grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts! There isn't much fanfiction of God of War out there, especially smutty ones so I wanted to add some to it. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated! :D


End file.
